Cave

As to your questions about yesterday's post, Bob, I haven't got a clue. I'm trying hard not to think beyond what I write so I don't "direct" what comes the next night. I'm not naive enough to think that I can give myself amnesia between one bedtime and the next, but I'm working real hard at not imagining what else might be going on, who else might be there, what came before or comes next. Just as free as I can get with my Germanic, inner-Hitler, totally anal persona. I think too much and I'm trying to get over it!

The low-ceilinged space was filled with the irritated squeaks of fruit bats jostling for space. He glared up at them to make sure he wasn't in line for any falling guano to stain his pristine khaki shirt. He had arrived at Spelonk cave an hour before sunrise, nestling in a small niche off to the side of the main cave chamber. The rising sun had revealed yellow and red ochre prehistoric paintings of sea creatures on the walls and ceiling and had also heralded the swirling arrival of more bats than he had anticipated. Their little dog snouts and translucent ears that constantly swiveled like small radar dishes, combined with their unexpectedly intelligent eyes, made him think that if he hadn't been there to disturb their roosting that they just might have talked to each other.

Critique's finished; see you tonight.
--Barbara